


Game Over

by Yooms (Yummistuck)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Ending, Flushed Romance | Matesprits, M/M, Sadstuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-08
Updated: 2012-10-08
Packaged: 2017-11-15 21:25:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/531884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yummistuck/pseuds/Yooms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s time to finish Sburb. The two knights, especially, know this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Game Over

You hear the oh so familiar sound of the central transportalizer zapping, announcing someone’s entrance. You don’t remove your gaze from the television screen, though, and your eyes train carefully on the face of the actor whose name you’ve forgotten about ages ago. You forgot the name of this movie the moment you popped the disc into the player, and the only reason you are dealing with it is to give your mind something to grasp onto.

This person, obviously, is trying to prevent you from doing just that.

You narrow your eyes as you sense his presence just behind your couch, but you force your shoulders to relax some.

“Can’t sleep, either?” you ask.

He doesn’t reply, but you didn’t expect him too. Instead you shift over to one side of the cramped sofa, making sure to visibly shake the cushions. As expected, he hesitates before creeping around the battered piece of furniture to plop beside you.

You glance at him beneath your shades, as his eyes are trained on the screen. The bags under his eyes are almost as black as the darkness that surrounds you two. You wonder if you would just reach out and try to touch them with your fingertips—would they even exist?

Some part of him must have a seventh sense, because those red eyes flicker to catch your gaze. It easily intensifies into a tired glare, and you give him a weary smirk.

“Man, man. It’s late. Everyone else is sleeping, I’m sure. You should, too. We have a big day tomorrow.” You’re rambling, you know that, but he’s staying silent and while it’s understandable it’s still unsettling.

He grunts, his eyebrows furrowing. You can almost see the wiry muscles of his shoulders tense, and you half wish that you didn’t say anything, but there’s no point. There’s no point in saying nothing, and there’s no point in saying anything.

He must know the same, because ten minutes later he slumps against you and you wrap your arm around his shoulder. That’s all. No headbutting, no playful squeezes, no exchanged punches. Twenty minutes your head falls onto his, you careful to avoid his horns, and he sighs against you.

You stay in that position long after the credits finish rolling, but it’s no use. The stiffness next to you indicates that he is awake, and he knows well that you are, too.

Your hand moves on its own, reaches out to rub his arm in what you think is a comforting manner, finally dragging itself down to rest on top of the back of his hand. He presses his face against your neck, and for a second—you are sure of it—you feel him shudder.

No, no, this is not good.

You take his shoulders and gently pull him away from you. He looks at you with obvious indignation, but you smile at him.

“Know how to dance, Karkles?”

His expression makes you want to laugh, and that you do as you get up and pull him onto his feet. “I’m guessing that you don’t. It’s great, then, that you have the great Dave Strider to teach you this necessary skill.”

He opens his mouth to protest or say something stupid, but you put a finger over his lips. “Shoosh. You don’t want to wake everyone else with those megaphone vocal chords of yours, now,” you whisper, practically dragging him to the more open area of the room. “Hold on. I’ll get some music.”

You brain suggests to play the most notorious songs you know, but your hands instead reach for the discs of classical music that Rose had lovingly picked out on the first days of your journey. You insert one into the player and set the volume to low.

You return to Karkat and take his hands. “Like this. Since you’ve never done this before, I’ll take the reins here,” you say, placing his hand on your shoulder. You have honestly never done this before, either, but there was no way you were going to let him know this. “And I’m here… And there we go.”

The music begins to drift from the speakers, a dreadfully slow song, and you begin to lead him. At first he is evidently confused, his eyes trained on your feet, and he steps on you more than once. But soon he seems to grasp it, and you two sway to the music, your upper bodies never changing position and your legs taking you in circles around the room.

The two of you dance through the eight songs in the disc. When it finally finishes you two, inches away from the transportalizer, stop.

“I don’t want tomorrow to happen, Dave,” he whispers finally.

You open your arms and embrace him, and his claws dig into your back but you don’t care.

“I don’t want it to happen either, Karkat,” you whisper back.

* * *

“You did it?”

“Dave,  _Dave—_ ”

“Did you do it, Karkat?”

“ _Dave..”_

“Karkles, answer me. Did you do it?”

His breathing is so loud and your voice is so soft that you aren’t sure that he can even hear you, but his face comes in focus and he’s grabbing your hand with both of his and whispering. You strain your ears to listen.

“--es, I did it, you fucking ass. I did everything you told me to do.”

You can’t fight back a smile. “Everyone? You pushed everyone in the house?”

“Everyone.”

“Terezi?” “Yeah.” “Rose?” “Yes.” “Jade?” “Of course.” “John?” “Yes.”

“That’s great… And explains a lot, too,” you sigh. Your body relaxes and your eyes flutter shut, and that makes him freak out.

“No, Dave Strider, do not fucking fall asleep on me,  _do not fall asleep—!!!”_

You feel warm liquid drip on your face, too thin to be blood, and you open your eyes wearily to meet Karkat’s watery gaze. He’s terrified, his fear streaked over his face, and you reach a shaking hand to his cheek. He grabs your hand and presses the side of his wet face against your palm.

“Hey, now, don’t worry,” you whisper. “I’m made of so much more than that. English's gone, too, isn’t he? You wouldn’t be here, with me, if he weren’t.”

His tears are falling fast, and his eyes drift to your lower abdomen and you know why. You nudge his face, trying to bring his gaze away from there, the area that’s now completely numb to you.

Your breathing’s shallow and the edges of your vision are foggy. You long to sleep, but you can’t, not with his crying face inches from you.

“Hey, Karkles, remember one of our first conversations…? It was with John… You were freaking out over us apparently hitting on Terezi and Vriska…”

He’s staring at you, probably wondering why, out of all things, you were talking about this, but he doesn’t interrupt you and you are thankful.

“We had such a bad start… It wasn’t that great in the meteor either, really… Who would’ve known?”  Your voice fucking cracks, but you are beyond past caring now because not even your cool facade can mask the fact that you just  _don’t want to die._ You don’t want to be another doomed timeline, another Dave to die, and the tears are streaming down your face, your eyes plainly visible from your broken shades. “Who would’ve known we would have gotten so close, ey, Karkat?”

He’s hugging you close, his body hunched over yours, shaking, shaking so hard that you cough and bright red splatters over his already stained sweatshirt. Your time’s limited. You, out of all people, would know that.

“Karkat, you know..”

“No,” he whispers fiercely. “Stop. You’re going to survive.”

“Karkat, just listen—”

“ _No_! You can tell me later, after you heal, just—just stay with me—”

“Karkat,” you whisper, and he finally shuts up. “I love you. You know that, right?”

His shoulders slump in defeat and, for a moment, his tears stop. “I love you too, Dave.”

You smile at him, and he brings you closer to him, almost as if to—-

* * *

Your eyes open to whiteness.

“Where am I?” you ask, staring at your clean hands.

“A dreambubble. Where else?” a too familiar voice replies. For a second fear floods you, but you turn your head and no, it’s not  _him_ —but a version of him. Your scan his brown outfit.

“We met before?”

He shrugs. “Who knows.” His white eyes look over you. “You’re not from a branched timeline, are you. You’re an alpha.” His eyes narrow. “You’re a Hero of Time. You should know the answer.”

You nod. “Yeah. That’s me. Doomed alpha kid.”

Karkat sighs and rubs at his forehead. “You know, I wondered. Is there ever an end to this madness? I died before I even got out of the game, but I met this other me who said he died after he finished the game. It makes me wonder. Even after that—is there an end to this madness?”

You shrug. “Beats me. I hope it does, though, or else all that shit we just pulled off would have been for nothing.”

He narrows his eyes at you. “You’re awfully open for a stranger with shades.”

You smirk. “What can I say. You’re not hard to talk to.”

* * *

“Jesus Christ,  _who_  are you waiting for?”

He’s bothering you for the umpteenth time, and once again you can’t help but to smirk. He’s so…  _himself_.

“Not telling. That’d be a spoiler,” you say, bringing a finger to his lips. He groans loudly and stomps away.

It had been exactly twelve years, six months, twelve days, three minutes, and fourteen seconds since that day.

No one else has joined you, and for that you are glad—

A bright light flashes, and you are on your feet instantly. Karkat wanders over to join you, curious, and you grit your teeth. No, it’s too early, way too fucking early—-

You nearly drop to your knees as you see the flowing black hair of Jade Harley. You grab her instantly, pulling her into a tight hug, and you don’t realize how much taller she is than you until she finally gets onto her feet.

“Huh…  _Dave?_ ” 

And she’s hugging you too, and you’re trying your best not to cry.

“Why..?”

She pulls away from you and smiles, and it’s the same goofy smile you remember. “Don’t worry! Everyone’s fine.” She pauses and frowns. “Dave. Were you waiting this whole time?”

You nod, and wince when she begins. “ _Dave!_ You  _know_  that you can leave—why would you—?”

She’s almost in tears, but she stops herself and shakes her head. “Of course. I know why.” She draws in a long breath and exhales. “He’s fine. We all are.”

The two of you sit facing each other, Karkat wandering around every once in a while pretending that he isn’t eavesdropping. She fills you in, about how they all made it to a new world where trolls and humans coexist, how Karkat and John run its new government, Terezi the leader of its courts system, how Jade went back to her island and died fighting a crazy dragon.

“It was crazy! No wonder I’m here, after all,” she says with a grin. You don’t know what to say. It all seems to fit in so perfectly, with no other problems pursuing your group like flies to honey. It seems almost impossible.

She hugs you, again, as if sensing your doubts, and whispers, “I’m going to leave now, Dave. I’m sure he knows that you’re waiting for him… But… He’s going to be so pissed when he really finds out, you know that?”

She’s gone before you can even nod.

* * *

It’s another thirty something years. Several other lights had flashed—-Rose came, sternly reprimanded you, and left, along with the white troll Kanaya, and even your bro’s young self. They all disappeared, though, and as usual your only companion is the troll clad in brown.

“Really. Who are you waiting for,” he asks bluntly.

“I can ask you the same thing?” you reply, and he scowls.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

No, not really, and he huffs at you. “I’m waiting for—”

The light flashes and both your heads turn.

Your eyes widen. It’s too soon, too soon—-

He’s taller than you, much taller, but so much thinner, too, as if that is even possible. His face is aged, but his eyes are the same red ones you knew those forty-nine years ago, and they catch yours and you swear you stop breathing.

His steps are weary, but the more he takes the more it seems as if his own self is shedding, shedding off layers of time and tears and desperation until he is standing in front of you, slightly shorter than your sixteen year old body at eight sweeps, his expression exasperated.

“Dave.”

He’s smiling.


End file.
